


Apple of My Eye

by ChamomileTeaPages



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Bad Puns, Baking a Pie, Bonding, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Doof is a Bro, Doofenperry - Freeform, Doofenshmirtz is a good baker, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Kisses, M/M, Perry Takes a Nap, Perryshmirtz - Freeform, They are gay, apple pies, slight angst, slight blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChamomileTeaPages/pseuds/ChamomileTeaPages
Summary: Doofenshmirtz feels bad for punching Perry too hard, so he bakes him an apple pie. They have a fun time bonding together.
Relationships: Heinz Doofenshmirtz & Perry the Platypus, Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	Apple of My Eye

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same universe as "City of Love" but it's not necessary to read that one to understand this one.

“Uh, ok. Anyways, Doofenshmirtz has been spotted buying up all the apples, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, flour, cinnamon, cardamom, brown sugar, eggs, vegetable shortening, and butter in the Tri-State Area. I’m sure this dastardly plot will be very...dastardly.” 

You stare at Monty blankly. He looks excited for...something, at the very least. There’s a sparkle to his eyes that you haven’t seen before and his face is flushed bright red, like a cherry. He’s probably asked out Carl. Okay, you’re not really supposed to know that, but he makes it  _ so damn obvious  _ he has a crush on the intern. You hope it works out well for him. 

“Oh, right. Get to it, I guess.” 

You salute him sharply and fly off to your nemesis’s lab, landing near the front of his building. the familiar jingle of “ _ Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated! _ ” ringing in your ears. You decide to take the elevator. You’d walk, but his building has  _ way  _ too many stairs. You knock on the front door of Doofenshmirtz’s lab once you’re deposited from the elevator, stowing away your jetpack in your surprisingly large fedora. You’re a polite platypus, after all (you’re not, really, you just lost your keys.) Besides, these kinds of doors cost a pretty penny. You  _ don’t  _ want to see your nemesis spend money on  _ doors _ , of all things. The less money your nemesis has to spend on -Inators the less creative they become, and the more annoyed you get with your job. 

“Ah, Perry the Platypus! Woah, your eye does not look good. It’s all bruised and swollen, like a flower or something,” your nemesis exclaims while opening the door. “Thank you for using the front door, by the way. I think I’m like the door company’s  _ star  _ customer with the amount of doors I replace.”

You give your nemesis a bored look. Of  _ course  _ it doesn’t look good; he put all of his effort into that punch. You’re, to put it frankly, surprised. You never knew he could punch that hard. You don’t even think  _ he  _ knows how hard he can punch. You do agree about the door thing, though. Maybe you’ll make all your entrances through the window. It’s dramatic enough for the both of you, surely. 

“Anywho, I felt really bad for punching you so hard yesterday! So, I decided to bake you a pie. Come with me, Perry the Platypus.”

You decide to follow him, easily dodging the mass of traps in front of you. Even though your nemesis lives here, he isn’t so lucky. A collection of thin copper wires of varying color spring up around his body, wrapping him in a spiky embrace. He winces, removing the wires from his body. A small, shallow cut appears on his neck and blood pulsates to the surface. 

“Man, I really should clean up more,” Doofenshmirtz groans. 

You tug on his labcoat and point up to his neck. He stares at you with wide eyes. 

“What do you want, Perry the Platypus?” 

You tug down, again, and motion for him to sit. He sits down obediently. 

“Hm?” 

You pull some bandaids and an antiseptic spray out of your fedora. (Hey, it never hurts to be prepared. Your nemesis is an  _ idiot  _ when it comes to not hurting himself accidentally.) You look at the cut critically. It’s not life-threatening nor deep; you would say it’s about as thin and long as your nemesis’s nail. However, blood curls up to the surface of the wound and drips down in rivers down your nemesis’s neck. 

You spray it gently with the antiseptic spray. He hisses softly and moves to touch it with a soot-stained hand. You grab his hand mid-movement and, using your other hand, pull out a wipe. You wipe Doofenshmirtz’s soot-stained hand until you’re satisfied with the cleanliness, and then allow him to touch the wound. His hand comes back bloody. 

“Oh, I’m bleeding. Thanks, Perry the Platypus! I dunno how I didn’t even notice.” 

You unstick a large bandaid and gently stick it on the wound. You pat-pat-pat it thrice to make sure it’s fully adhered to the skin. If it’s not, it’ll come off painfully. Probably, anyways. You don’t have human skin, so how should  _ you  _ know? 

He grins a grateful smile at you and gets up. “You know, I wouldn’t have caught that and then I would have bled out. Or  _ something. _ Anywho, before I trapped  _ myself _ , I was gonna make you a pie! With no traps or scheme or nothing. Just a simple apple pie. But then I got caught up in my soaps and you were here, and, well, you know…” 

You nod for him to continue. 

“Would you like to help me, Perry the Platypus?” 

You nod again. Doofenshmirtz claps his hands. 

“Great! How about I make the filling and you make the pie crust?”

You don’t care either way. He motions you over to his spotless kitchen (there’s a huge disconnect with the  _ very clean  _ kitchen and the messy everywhere else) and pulls out the necessary ingredients, placing them into their respective cups. Probably to avoid any complications with the measurements, you figure. He takes one of the chairs from his kitchen table and places it near the counter. 

“For you, Perry the Platypus,” Doofenshmirtz gestures dramatically, You hop on, squashing down any feelings of smallness. It’s not like you could reach from the floor, anyways. He pulls an apron from underneath the sink. It’s a sturdy black, with the words “Kiss the Cook” crossed out and replaced by “Kiss the Evil Scientist” in metallic gold Sharpie. Doofenshmirtz slips it onto his body, tying it with a practised knot. A small thought in your head suggests actually kissing him, just to prove his apron right. 

“Do you even know  _ how _ to make apple pie?”

You shake your head.

“Alright, so. Take your flour, vegetable shortening, sugar, salt, butter, and you won’t even believe it, apple cider vinegar. The vinegar makes it more apple-ly and makes the filling more juicy.” 

You pour the ingredients into Doofenshmirtz’s stand mixer, pulsating it and adding ice water. Doofenshmirtz tests the dough with a finger. “Perfect!” 

The edge of your mouth quirks up into a traitorous grin before you can stop it. 

“Let’s roll it into a disc and put it in the freezer for around an hour. That way, we can work on the filling while the dough chills.” 

You roll out the dough, your arms already aching. This is something people do for  _ fun? _

“Don’t tell me you’re already tired, Perry the Platypus.”

You glance at him balefully. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he sighs. “You agreed to do this.” 

Yes, yes you did. 

Anywho,” he continues, “let’s make the filling.” 

He passes some apples to you and a knife. 

“Peel and core the apples,” he says, demonstrating the action, “and then slice them one fourth inch thick.”

You copy his motions, finding them fairly easy. 

“Very good,” he praises you. You sincerely hope he can’t see your blush under your fur. He glances at you briefly, then exclaims “Perry the Platypus, you must be tired! How about you take a nap and I’ll finish up, alright?”

You suppose he’s right. You can feel your eyelids drooping lower and lower and you believe you can  _ almost  _ feel your dark circles getting darker. He takes you by a paw and gently helps you off of the chair. His usually rough hands are softened with a light dusting of flour. He places you on the couch and places a well-worn blanket on you. It smells of soot, yet it is warm and cozy.

“Sorry about the soot by the way.” Doofenshmirtz arranges the blanket around you making sure that you’re warm. “I haven’t had the chance to wash it.”   
  


You yawn, nodding along. It’s a pleasant scent; it reminds you of him. He presses a kiss to your forehead and murmurs sweetly, “Nap well, Perry the Platypus.” 

A nap sounds especially good.

You wake after what feels to be an hour or so. The scent of cinnamon and apples waft into your nose, and the hearty scent of pie crust sits in your lungs. 

Doofenshmirtz sits in a plush chair, idly thumbing through a magazine. 

“You’re awake?” he asks, not looking up from his magazine. 

You chatter, feeling amazed at how energized it sounds. 

“Man, you must have been  _ tired _ . You were asleep for a few hours.” 

You wonder if you have any obligations that you missed while you were sleeping. Probably not; your host family is out at Linda’s sister’s home. You hadn’t really wanted to go, surprisingly enough. She’s a nice woman, true, but overbearing. She  _ keeps _ stuffing you into outfits. You like dressing up, but  _ God damn _ . 

You yawn, popping your back. Doofenshmirtz puts down the magazine and strolls over to you. 

“Did you have a good nap, Perry the Platypus?”   
  


You yawn. You feel truly restored. 

“Alright,” Doofenshmirtz singsongs, “time to take out the pie!” 

He slips on some black oven mitts and carefully takes the pie out of the oven. 

“Look at that pie!” he exclaims, setting it down onto the counter. He’s right, that pie is  _ gorgeous.  _ It is the perfect shade of brown, highlighted with thick sprinkles of sugar like snow on the ground. You give him a thumbs up and he beams at you.

“I’m glad you agree, Perry the Platypus! She’s gorgeous.”

“Now,” Doofenshmirtz says grandly, picking up the pie, “I present to you my apology pie! Or, apolopie, as you will.” 

You  _ almost  _ hold back your grin. An  _ apolopie _ ? Your nemesis makes excellent puns. 

“Let’s cut this bad boy open.”

Taking a long, serrated knife, Doofenshmirtz cuts two slices of pie, gently placing them on two white plates. The filling oozes out. 

“Yeah, I know you’re supposed to let it settle for a while,” he says, passing a fork and a plate of pie to you, “but I’m really, really hungry.” 

You take a bite of pie, giving him a thumbs up. It’s really,  _ really  _ good. Since when did your nemesis know how to bake? 

“You know,” he says through a mouthful of pie, “I haven’t made a pie in a while. Norm usually makes them. They’re Vanessa’s  _ favorite.  _ Yeah, she and I, we make one every Christmas. Well, we do if she’s over at my house.” 

The both of you eat your pies in relative silence. 

“Did you like your pie, Perry the Platypus?”

Doofenshmirtz places his plate in the sink. You nod in response. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I enjoyed it too.” 

He walks over to you, kneeling on one knee. He presses a gentle finger to the bruise near your right eye. 

“Does it feel better?” he whispers. 

You nod, breath suddenly stuck on your throat and an apple red blush blooming on your cheeks. You almost drop your plate when he begins stroking the bruise. You ponder if it really  _ does  _ feel better. Certainly, if he keeps doing  _ that  _ it will be much better. 

“Will it feel better if I do...this…?” 

He presses a kiss to your brow with a hesitant, soft motion. 

Yep, you feel much better now. 

Setting down your fully cleaned plate, you take him by his angular chin and kiss him properly. It’s a risky move, sure, but isn’t your entire life built on risk? It’s a bit awkward, since you both have really jutty-out noses? Beaks? You’re not sure. But it’s still really pleasant. 

Doofenshmirtz wraps a hand (seriously, his hands are massive!) around your back, pulling you closer. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

So have you. You nod, gently petting the side of his face. It’s always amazed you that humans don’t have fur like you do. He pulls away, gnawing on the bottom of his lip in thought. 

“Would...would you like to be my boyfrienemisis?”

You nod, and a grin appears on his face. 

“Perry the Boyfriendpus,” he almost bounces upwards, “would you like some more pie?” 

You nod. You’re still hungry, and, besides, it’s  _ your  _ pie. (Well, yours and Doofen- Huh, what should you call him now? Heinz? You’ll stick with Heinz.)

He cuts another slice of pie for you, softly humming the intro song to your favorite soap opera. 

“Come on, let’s go sit down.” 

You wrap your fingers around his hand as he leads you to the couch. 

“Up you go,” he mutters as he pushes you up onto the couch. He wraps a blanket around the both of you, tucking you into his chest and turning on the television. You sigh contentedly and nibble at your pie. The opening notes of  _ El Matador De Amor  _ begin to play. 

“Ooh, I quite like this one!” Heinz exclaims, leaning forwards slightly. He pets your fur, exclaiming at odd moments when something interesting happens. You can feel yourself relax under his gentle touch. 

“Aww,” he coos, “you’re still sleepy?” 

You nod softly. The warmth of his chest and the blanket sinks into you like a warm summer day and the words coming from the TV are like a lullaby. 

“Sleep well, Perry the Boyfriendpus.” 

Heinz pulls you even closer, kissing the top of your head softly and setting your half-eaten pie on the table. 

The last thing you see before your eyes drift off is the soft, sweet look on Heinz’s face and the blue light bouncing off his face like waves. 


End file.
